as he turns and pushes the luggage cart toward the limo.
I stick to protocol and ride up front with David, but before Sophie ducks into the back, I press a finger to my lips and mouth, “We’ll talk later.”
She nods and slips inside.
At the hotel, I escort her up to our suite. I dump my garment bag and duffel in the smaller of the two bedrooms.
“What happened to you?” she asks after the bellman drops her luggage and leaves. “The story in the news was that there was a shooting and you and your family fled the country. Figured you’d be living large in Greece or something.”
I shrug. She wants to think my siblings are in Greece, the better for me. “I came back.”
She throws a disbelieving glance at our surroundings. “So you could be a bodyguard in Tampa?”
I keep my expression flat. “It’s a long story. But no one can know, Sophie.”
She smiles, lifts her perfectly plucked red eyebrows. “I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be. It’s just a detour. I’m heading back to Chicago tomorrow.”
She looks at me a moment longer and then turns for her bedroom. “I’ll be ready in a half hour.” She spins back to me at the doors. “And when we get back, I’ll have all the time in the world to hear that long story.”
I watch her pull the sliding doors to her room closed, then sink into the sofa in the sitting room. How the hell did this happen?
I think about calling the DOJ, telling them to get my family the hell out of Florida, but I’m going back to Chicago, and Sophie doesn’t even know the rest of them are here. In forty-eight hours, Oliver Savoca will be dead and Chicago will be ours again.
It will all be over.
* * *
Sophie has an evening speech at a local college, where she’s mobbed by adoring students and faculty alike. She decides on the way back that she’s tired. “Room service and a long, hot shower sounds like the best idea I’ve had all day.”
David brings us back to the hotel. When we get to the suite, she calls in a room service order that’s basically one of everything on the menu. She opens the courtesy bar and pulls out a bottle of red wine. “Will you do the honors?” she asks, handing it to me. “I’m going to shower and change.”
I take the bottle. She disappears through her bedroom door. I hear the water start in the shower and think about changing out of my monkey suit, but decide against it. Best to keep this professional. I tug loose my tie and kick off my shoes and socks, though.
Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the door. I let the waiter in and he arranges everything on the small dining room table.
“Oh my God, that smells good,” Sophie says as she throws open her doors and sweeps into the sitting room in a pair of jeans and a vintage Van Halen T-shirt with nothing underneath. She’s barefoot and her damp red hair is loose down her back. She slides into a seat in front of the feast. “I’m starving.”
I tip the waiter and show him out, then come back to the table.
She looks at the open wine bottle and the glass I’ve poured for her. “I’m drinking alone?”
“Can’t,” I tell her with a nod at the glass. “It’s in my employment contract.”
She slips me a devious smile and pours a second glass, holding it out to me. “I’m not going to report you, Robby. Sit and tell me how one of the richest men in Chicago ended up my bodyguard in Tampa.”
I take the glass, sit across from her.
“And take whatever looks good to you,” she adds with a nod at the table.
I tug the plate with a bacon wrapped filet mignon and baked potato toward me.
“I knew you’d pick that or the lasagna. I ordered them for you,” she says with a smile.
I hack off a hunk of beef and cram it in my mouth, surprised at how hungry I am. Then I realize I haven’t eaten anything since the breakfast I picked at before Adri came over. “I saw that Oliver Savoca took you to your premiere after we split.”
She gives me a sly look out from under long lashes. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Not really.” I’m just preparing myself for what comes next—a bloodbath in the streets of Chicago.
“He was just a placeholder.” She leans back and twirls a finger into the damp